The Order of the Dragon
by skyomon
Summary: Jane Hawke mysteriously disappeared the night Fenris was going to ask for her hand in marriage. Nothings ever been the same, and Fenris has become an alleged alcoholic and frequent visitor of the Blooming Rose. When Hawke returns after five years, will she be the same? And what are the markings on her body?
1. Chapter 1

Jane Hawke breathed in the salty air of Kirkwall once again, her light eyes brightened at the idea of returning home. She stood atop the ship, her hand gripping a wooden pole. A small, red-lipped smile plagued her mouth. It was true, Hawke was deemed the most beautiful by many, along with the title of The Champion.

Hawke's hair cascaded in long, chestnut ringlets that fell just above her hips, flowing over her shoulders as the wind caught her face. She had eyelashes that seemed unreal, so long and dark that her gray, mysterious eyes contrasted. Jane's skin was porcelain, with pink cheeks, not to mention flawless. Her slim figure was outlined by tight leather bottoms, and a red undershirt with the crest of a golden dragon on the chest, a black leather face that ended at her hips, and a pair of strong black boots.

Two rings glinted on her fingers—one a golden crystal set onto a beautiful twisted gold band, and the other a simple yet meaningful silver band with Elvish inscriptions carved onto the outside and in.

Hawke smiled, remembering the day that Fenris had gifted her that ring, promising to stay true to their love. His shaded green eyes and his rare charming smile was the only thing that kept her going, which kept her alive through the pain she suffered on that island.

The sudden bang against the ship pulled her out of her reverie, like an unwanted wake-up call. Surprised, Hawke's light gray eyes shifted down to glance at Lowtown. Nothing seemed to have changed, which only excited her furthermore.

"Is this our end, Mage?" A dark voice asked from behind her. Hawke didn't bother turning around.

"We'll meet again, Pirate." She smiled at the obvious nickname her and her companion had made for each other. "Stay out of trouble while I'm gone, won't you?"

"No promises," Gerion replied, waving the woman goodbye. She lifted the hood of her golden cloak up. As Hawke entered the walls of Lowtown, the people began to look, staring at her as if she were some guardian angel.

Yet, they had no clue that it was their Champion walking amongst them. They remembered her as a strong being, but they couldn't picture how much Hawke had learned on her escapade at the Six Islands. They thought their Champion to forever have short, wavy locks, and they would never dream of their savior being a long-haired porcelain doll.

No one dared speak out against her faceless cloak that walked the streets. Hawke lowered her eyes, careful not to let her body show. She glided across the cobblestone with ease and finally, deciding that her entrance had been enough, turning towards the wall and vanished.

None guessed that she could've been in the emptiest part of Lowtown. Hawke materialized, sighing in relief as she escaped their scrutinizing stares. She began to move her hood, but stopped with cold blood.

_"P-please, I don't want to hurt anybody." _Her voice…it couldn't be. Hawke let go of her hood and began sprinting towards the voices, the deep thundering booms of laughter. As she appeared in front of the alley, unseen, it became apparent that her suspicions were precise.

Merrill stood, frightened, and pressed against the back wall of the side alley. Her wide, dark eyes looked wild as she inched towards her knife. Hawke could see the hatred for her blood magic, and made a sudden, exciting decision.

"That won't help you, Elf." A man sauntered up to her, his armor announcing that he was part of the Assassin's group. He reached for his sword and swung, but something stopped him. Stunned, he froze.

Because there, standing in front of the petite elf, was Hawke, her ungloved hand making a fist around his long sword. The metal began to glow red, and the man exclaimed before releasing his weapon. Hawke allowed it to drop to the ground.

"Who are you?" He demanded, glancing back at his group. They lurched forwards, knives at the ready. And Hawke let them, with only a smirk to show her gratitude. _I haven't fought anybody since…ah, Maker, let this be a welcome-home gift. _

Merrill was a statue, to say the least. Who was her savior? She did not know. Though there was a lingering scent that seemed familiar, a scent she'd tracked many times before. No…it couldn't be…she was dead.

The assassins attacked. Hawke sent a mind blast, which caused the men to fly back. But it wasn't going to be that easy, well, at least not if she could help it. She began to march up to them, smirking as they scrambled to their feet.

Her left side tingled. Hawke spun, her leg whipping around and striking her attacker across the cheek. He went flying against the wall, dazed and bruised. It was a simple task, of course. Hawke leapt through the air, wrapping her body around one of the men and flipping him onto the group.

Jane glared at the men. Tens and tens of assassins were all lined up, seemingly forgetting about Merrill and the blade held against her palm. Hawke froze. She shouldn't be using her blood magic…and then she decided.

Merrill stopped as she saw her savior drop her arms. Was she giving up? No, she couldn't be. Looking down at her palm, the blade seemed enticing, but it was wrong. She couldn't use her blood magic anymore. Yet, how else were they supposed to leave there alive?

And then she saw it—the golden aura that surrounded her protector. The man's feet were lifted off the ground, but not that she could tell. The cloak that sealed the savior hid all signs of life beneath it all too well.

The alley became warm, despite the winter being in its grasp. Merrill felt as if she were at home, watching the protector float above the assassins. Suddenly, the golden aura became a burst of energy, concealing the men from sight. When it receded, the cold air became apparent.

The assassins were lying in a heap on the floor, a golden dust sprinkled over them. The man lowered to his feet, and the hood of the cloak finally popped off.

But it wasn't a man. It was woman, a woman Merrill knew all too well. Her eyes were glowing gold, giving off a sort of yellow smoke as they turned to look at Merrill. Hawke had changed, that was for certain. But it was still her—the same face. Slowly, the color in Hawke's eyes faded out, replacing it with a light grey shade.

"J-Jane?" Merrill managed to squeak out. In a puff of yellow dust, the woman was gone, leaving behind a pile of unconscious assassins and the smell of vanilla.


	2. Chapter Two: Late Night Visit

Fenris was drinking. Again. It was no surprise to him, or to any of his companions. The bottle was almost empty, and once he saw that, he smashed it against the wall. It reminded him the time he and Hawke first _really _talked. Tears began to form in his eyes, vulnerability evident in his stance.

"Why'd you leave me Hawke?" He whispered to himself, crumbling in a heap on the cold tile floor. The borrowed mansion was anything but comforting, especially counting the nights he and Jane had been together in his home. The memories of her touch, her soft, soft skin haunted him.

Screaming in Arcanum, Fenris knocked over his chair in a furious fit, breaking it in two. At times like these, he would've been over to the Blooming Rose, wishing those whores could be Hawke. Though he knew they weren't—how could they be? None of them had her soft flawless complexion, or the velvety touch of her skin. None had her short, curly, chestnut-colored locks, or her sparkling eyes that couldn't decide if they were blue, green, or gray. None had her curves, the hour glass figure that cuddled into his side at night, or her lips that so elegantly grazed his skin, discovering all his weak points.

Merrill's words came back. Fenris remembered the earlier events of the day, that caused him to be in such an uproar. Of course, his violent tendencies occurred almost every night since Hawke had gone.

_"Fredrick!" The wench exclaimed as Fenris kissed at her neck. It never felt the same as it had with Hawke, but that thought was pushed to the back of his mind. His love was not coming back, not now, not ever. Yet, his subconscious decisions led to telling the whore that his name was Fredrick. _

_ "Fenris of Tevinter," A strong elf's voice exclaimed, cutting through the high-pitched moans. Fenris rolled his eyes, moving to make off the drunken whore before him. Turning his head, he discovered the figure of Merrill, who's were wide with excitement and worry. _

_ "What is it now, Merrill? Come to collect money for Varric?" Fenris picked up a jug of ale sitting beside the bed. Suddenly, the glass burst in flames, spilling its contents along the wooden floor. "You fiend," He scowled. _

_ "Drinking will not soothe what I am to tell you, Fenris." Merrill spoke. He sighed, hunched over on the edge of the bed. Merrill nearly always had something urgent to tell the white-haired elf, whether it be that Isabela and Varric had drunkenly shared a kiss, or that she swore she saw shadows along her walls again. _

_ "What is your business here, elf?" Fenris rolled his eyes as he rubbed his throbbing temples. _

_ "If I'm going to tell you the story, it might as well be from the beginning." Merrill took a deep breath and Fenris shook his head. "I was waiting for a merchant—Anders sent me to collect imported medicine from the Dwarven Islands. It was dark, and the streets seemed smoke-like, and then they appeared. Hordes of assassins, wielding swords and all. Too many for me to take out." _

_ "Get to the point, Merrill, before I fall to slumber once more." _

_ "I didn't know what to do. One of the assassins…they were ready to kill me. And then he showed up. A man, dressed in a golden cloak with the hood help up, the face unseen. He disposed of the assassins, until the last moment, when the hood came off. It was then that I saw—it wasn't a man at all. It was a woman, with long flowing chestnut hair and glowing gold eyes. It wasn't just any woman. Can you guess who it was?" Merrill questioned, her eyes wild. _

_ "A blood mage," Fenris seethed. Merrill shook her head. _

_ "This was not blood magic, Fenris. This was something much lighter, something more pure. A power unseen for years—I believe it was Dragon Magic." Fenris chuckled. _

_ "No such thing exists, Elf." He gave her a drunken smirk, one that pissed her off even more so. _

_ "The golden eyes, Fenris. Didn't you listen to the tales our Elven ancestors passed down?" Merrill scoffed, excitement linked in her voice. Fenris' eyes flickered back towards her. "Let me refresh your memory, fool. The Six Dragons, powerful entities that ruled the Earth. The Dragon of Earth, the Dragon of Air, the Dragon of Water, the Dragon of Fire, and the Dragon of Spirit. Do you know why they call them the Six Dragons, if there is only one?" _

_ "Because," Fenris replied in a low voice. "The Sixth Dragon was created out of hope, and the goodness of the Dragons' hearts. Their homes, far in a different world were in danger, and the five Dragons prayed for six days and six nights, offering up symbols of their element. On the sixth night, from the flames arose Lint, the Gold Dragon." _

_ "Someone has been listening." said Merrill with a smug smile. _

_ "What does this have to do with anything?" Fenris rolled his eyes. Merrill's eyes twinkled, as if she knew something he didn't. "Well, out with it, then!" _

_ "The woman with the golden eyes…it was Hawke. Our Hawke." _

Fenris shook his head as he sauntered back to his couch, plopping onto the torn fabric. Merrill liked to torture the white-haired elf, and he hadn't thought twice about it. Well, that was a lie.

It was all he could think about. Hawke…what if she had returned? It was clear Merrill was delusional; the Six Dragons did not exist, for they were stories passed down from generation to generation. Once before, it was said the Chantry prayed to their Six Dragons in hopes of their prayers being returned.

_Hawke, _Fenris thought lamely as he slummed into the side of his couch. _I know you won't hear me, but I am so…so sorry. I've been with other women; I've been drinking like a madman. I don't know what to do without you gone. _

"I am such a fool," Fenris muttered, standing up. "As if my prayers are being heard. There is no Maker, and there is no Six Dragons." Just then, the window blew open, the moonlight cascading across his dark home.

Fenris froze, staring as a lone, golden butterfly flew into his room, landing softly on the pedestal by the window. It rested for a moment, big black eyes staring at the white-haired elf. And suddenly, the butterfly lifted into the air, its shadow on the wall turning and becoming something else.

"H-Hawke?" Fenris whispered brokenly, watching as the butterfly became a slim, nude woman. She had markings like his, except only across her arms, glowing in a golden hue. She had hair the color of the sun with a mixture of chocolate, falling in perfect princess-like curls to her bare bum.

Her eyes…they didn't decide if they were blue, green, or gray. With each slow blink, her feather-like, thick eyebrows moved mesmerizingly. Her lips were stained red and formed in an inviting, dimpled smile.

"Fenris…my love." Hawke greeted, her voice like honey warming his heart. Fenris didn't know what to say—the sight of her bare body excited him, and her smile enticed him. He rushed forwards, embracing her warm body with his leather clothing.

"I've waited so long for this," He whispered. He forgot all questions he wanted to ask, everything he wanted to say if he ever got the chance to see her again. Fenris took a step back, watching her stormed eyes.

"So have I," Hawke whispered, before pressing her cherry-colored lips against his pink ones. The electricity sparked between them, hot trails of kisses leading down her neck and arms.

"I can't believe you're really here," Fenris swooned, sweeping Jane off her feet and holding her against him. Hawke giggled childishly, a way that Fenris doubted he'd hear again. The largest, widest, toothiest grin spread across his face as he swept into his bedroom, gently setting her down against the sheets of his bed.

Hawke's moans excited him, pulling at his skin like hot needles as he kissed along her neck. Long, nimble fingers traced his hair, gripping tightly as he hit her weak spots. Fenris smile against her chest, before licking at the pink flesh along her breasts.

"I don't remember you being this beautiful," He whispered, his low voice warming her from the inside.

"I don't remember you being this clothed," Hawke replied breathily, before turning the tables. Suddenly, her warm center was glided across his groin, and her dainty hands ripped his leather shirt off with ease.

"I've missed you," Fenris managed to choke out as Hawke undid his pants. Her eyes flickered up, the same taunting smile played across her lips. She flung off the leather with such ease, tossing it across the room. Her soft fingers ran across his lyrium markings, tingling his skin.

Their words ceased to exist as Fenris turned, placing himself between her thighs. The moment was real, the fire in the room nearly lighting as Fenris pushed into her. Hawke moaned, clawing as his back as he went deeper, and deeper, until he had fit himself inside her. Like always, they molded, like a lock and key.

Fenris bit his lip as her fingers dug into his back, yet the pain was mixed with pleasure. He felt drunk, as if he'd been drinking bottles and bottles before he'd waltzed into the room. Hawke would do that to him—daze his vision, soothe his thoughts.

And then, as Hawke body began to tremble, the markings on her arms began to glow, as did her eyes, a bright gold. Suddenly, everything went dark, and the night was still.


End file.
